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"Don't look at them."
Mara's partner said it so quiet I almost missed it over the train rattle. His hand locked around her wrist, pulling her back from the aisle where a dozen faces stared at nothing.
"Let go," Mara said.
He didn't. His fingers pressed white marks into her skin. The missing people sat in rows, clothes torn, eyes open. Nobody blinked.
"Jace." Mara turned her head just enough to catch me without letting go of her partner. "Get your sister and move to the back."
"She's not here," I said.
That got her full attention. "What?"
"I put her in the service car. Two ahead. She's locked in."
Mara's jaw worked. "You separated."
"You told me to keep her away from whoever's running this."
"I told you to stay close."
"Yeah, well." I leaned against the door frame, watching her partner watch me. "Staying close to you gets people shot."
Her partner's mouth twitched. Not a smile. Something worse.
"We're getting off at the next stop," Mara said.
"There's no next stop." Her partner's voice scraped like he'd been breathing dust. "This line doesn't surface until the depot."
"Then we pull the emergency brake."
"And trap everyone here when the reset drops." He finally let go of her wrist, but his hand moved to his jacket. I saw the bulge under his ribs. "You know what happens if they wake up."
Mara's face went still. "How do you know that?"
"I've been riding this train for six days."
She took a step back. Put herself between him and me. I didn't know if that was tactical or instinct, but I didn't argue.
"Six days," she said. "You've been missing for eleven."
"Not missing." He looked past her, past me, at the rows of empty faces. "Embedded."
"Bullshit," I said. "You filed the transit report. You wrote up the first pattern."
"I wrote what they told me to write." He pulled a folded paper from his jacket. Not a gun. Worse. A ledger page, edges burned, ink still wet in places. "They needed someone inside the investigator pool. Someone Mara trusted."
Mara's hand went to her hip. Her gun.
"Don't," he said.
"Give me the page."
"You don't want this."
"Give it to me."
He held it out. She snatched it, unfolded it against the wall where the overhead light hit the ink.
I couldn't see the words from where I stood. I saw her face.
"No," she said.
Her partner's expression didn't change. "I'm sorry."
"This is a plant."
"It's not."
"Someone faked this."
"Mara." He stepped closer. She raised the gun. He stopped. "You know the handwriting."
"I know you're lying."
"Then shoot me."
The train swayed. One of the missing people in the third row tilted sideways, shoulder hitting the window. Didn't wake. Didn't flinch.
Mara lowered the gun halfway. "What do they want?"
"Same thing everyone wants." Her partner looked at me again. "The one who remembers."
I pushed off the door frame. "I didn't ask for this."
"Doesn't matter. You're the variable. Every night at twelve-oh-seven, the city dumps an hour and resets. Everyone forgets. Everyone but you."
"And you," I said.
He smiled. It looked like it hurt. "I'm not remembering. I'm just not sleeping."
Mara folded the page into her pocket. "Who's running it?"
"You already know."
"Say the name."
"Silas Wren. Deputy Director. Night Audit division."
"He's administrative," Mara said. "He doesn't have access to transit infrastructure."
"He does now." Her partner nodded at the sleeping passengers. "You think these people volunteered? Wren pulled them out of debt auction holding. One hour a night, over and over, testing how long a reset can loop before the brain stops compensating."
"And Jace?"
"Jace is the proof it works. The reset's been running for ninety-four days. He's been conscious for all of them."
I felt the number land in my chest. Ninety-four days. Three months. I'd thought it was two weeks, maybe three. The days blurred, but I kept a count. I'd been wrong.
"How do you know that?" I asked.
"Because they've been tracking you since day one. Every theft. Every detour. Every time you moved your sister to a new apartment." He pulled a second paper, smaller, a photo. My face. My sister's face. The garage where I parked my rig. "You're the experiment's only success. That makes you the most valuable asset in Brinepoint."
"Or the most dangerous," Mara said.
Her partner nodded. "That too."
The train dropped into a tunnel. The lights flickered. When they came back, two of the sleeping passengers had their eyes open. Not awake. Just open.
"We're out of time," her partner said.
"We pull the brake," Mara said. "We get everyone off before the reset."
"You pull the brake, the tunnel locks down. Wren's people are already on the platform. You'll be boxed in."
"Then we go through them."
"With fifteen civilians?"
"Fourteen," I said. "My sister's ahead, remember?"
Mara turned on me. "Go get her. Now."
"Not until you tell me what's on that page."
"Jace."
"You looked like someone shot your dog. I want to know why."
Her partner stepped between us. Close enough I could smell the dust on his jacket, see the red veins in his eyes. "The page lists the reset operators. The people who keep the loop stable. Three names. Silas Wren. Nia Holt. And the third—"
"Shut up," Mara said.
He kept talking. "The third is scheduled to take over tomorrow night. Twelve-oh-seven. They've been training her for six weeks."
"Stop."
"Her access codes are already loaded. Her biometrics are in the system."
"I said stop."
The train jolted. Brakes screaming. We all grabbed for the handrails. The sleeping passengers slid forward in their seats, heads lolling, but none of them woke.
When the train settled, we were stopped. No platform. Just tunnel.
Mara's partner pulled his gun. Not pointed at me. Pointed at the door.
"They're here," he said.
I heard it too. Footsteps. Multiple. Coming from both ends of the car.
"Back door," Mara said.
"Sealed," her partner said.
"Then we go through the front."
"Mara." He grabbed her arm again. Gentle this time. She tried to pull away. He held on. "You need to hear this."
"I don't."
"The third operator. The one they're activating tomorrow." He pulled the ledger page from her pocket, unfolded it, and held it where I could see.
Three names in handwritten ink. The first two meant nothing to me. The third—
Mara Vance.
She stared at the page. At her own name. At the date written next to it in red.
"That's not me," she said.
Her partner's face didn't change. "It's your signature. Your case number. Your badge trace."
"I didn't sign anything."
"You did. Six weeks ago. Right after I disappeared."
The footsteps stopped. I heard the hiss of a door lock disengaging.
Mara looked at me. I looked at her.
"Run," her partner said.
She didn't move. Her eyes stayed on mine. I saw the question there. Same one I'd been asking since the first reset.
Who do you trust when you can't trust yourself?
The door opened. A man stepped through. Pressed suit. Empty face. Gun already raised.
Mara lifted hers. Her partner pushed her hand down.
"Don't," he said. "You fire, they'll lock the whole depot. No one gets out."
"Then what do we do?"
He looked at me. Then back at her.
"You give them what they want."
Mara's face went cold. "No."
"It's him or the city."
"I'm not handing him over."
"You don't have a choice."
The man in the suit stepped closer. Two more came through behind him. All armed. All watching me.
"Jace Mercer," the first one said. "You need to come with us."
I stayed where I was. "And if I don't?"
He raised the gun another inch. "Then we take you anyway."
Mara's hand tightened on her weapon. Her partner put his palm over the barrel.
"Mara," he said. "Look at the page."
She didn't want to. I could see it. But she did.
Her face changed. Something broke behind her eyes.
"What?" I asked.
"The date," she said. Barely a whisper.
"What about it?"
She turned the page so I could see the red ink. The date next to her name.
Tonight.
Not tomorrow. Tonight.
Twelve-oh-seven.
The reset was coming. And when it did, Mara Vance was the one holding the switch.